Chapter 10 – The Bears Go Duck Hunting

Practices leading up to the Bears game improved.

The other Ducks seemed to be responding to his speech about confidence. But the only two outliers were Charlie and Fulton. Ted saw how Fulton followed Charlie around like a lost puppy, unwilling to do his own thing or go along with the other Ducks. So, he and Conway were the ones still consistently late. Half the time, the practices turned into a full hour of just conditioning because Conway made it go longer than needed.

That was why, during their home game against the Blake Academy Bears on Friday night, Ted wondered whether he was making the right decision by selecting Charlie as the starter. But they needed to make a statement even though they weren't at all where they needed to be as far as defense was concerned.

Ted first gathered them all onto the bench, reminding them to prioritize defense. Afterward, he had them all put their hands in, only to hear the beginnings of their chant, "Quack!" Quickly, he cut them off.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, what the hell's that? Knock it off," he said sternly; he knew it was unfair, but the team name wasn't the Ducks; it was the Warriors; they couldn't have anything that branded them as "Mighty Ducks." It was time for them to cut that cord.

Part of Ted felt guilty for taking away the one thing that tied them all together, though, especially when he noticed their faces dropping in despondency, and he made them yell, "Go team!" In fact, he felt his own heart sink, as well; he knew how much that quacking cheer meant to them. They only did the "Go, team!" cheer with minimal enthusiasm, though; he could see their hearts were just not in it at all, and even looking at them in the red and white Junior Varsity Warriors jerseys, he could see that that just was not them at all – they looked like they were being forced into Halloween costumes that didn't fit them properly, because those jerseys weren't them, much like how this school wasn't them at all; they weren't wealthy or privileged, they were the average person, most of them coming from homes where they relied on food stamps just to get by.

Still, as sympathetic as he felt toward the whole thing, Ted also acknowledged this was part of their contract – they were to play as Warriors, not Ducks. He hated it, but it had to be done. And part of growing up and becoming an adult was doing things you did not want to do sometimes. Like this.

He sent Averman, Fulton, and Conway out first for the starting lineup; with no defense players behind them, this would be their ultimate test: to see if they could defend their zone. He hoped they'd learn something here, at least.

Looking out into the stands, he saw his wife and daughter sitting there. He was grateful that Lucy didn't have practice, that her first game was tomorrow afternoon, and that she could be here tonight to see what her daddy did for a living. Lucy beamed at him, waving, and Ted smiled warmly back at her and Bella before shifting his eyes back to the game, where Conway had already scored the Ducks' first goal. The kid was so caught up celebrating that he wasn't thinking about the other possibility; sure, Blake's team wasn't the most skilled and was notorious for being weaker, but they couldn't take anything for granted.

"All right, knock off the celebration," Ted barked at the kids. "Act like you've scored before, huh?" He called for a line change, sending Kenny, Russ, and Connie out there to see what they could do. Russ pulled an assist with Kenny, setting Kenny up by doing his famous "knucklepuck," getting the Bears' goalie in the helmet, knocking him out, and letting Kenny slip inside and score.

Ted barked for another line change; they were two and zero now, but that didn't matter to him. They needed to keep their eyes on one number: zero. They needed to play as though they were in a shutout. Turning his gaze over to Julie, she looked bored out of her mind, kneeling there in front of the post. By the time the Bears adapted to them, she'd be so overwhelmed because she'd had nothing to do the entire time. How would she be able to make any saves if they didn't let her do her job?

Ted shook his head; he didn't care about goals. In fact, if they won this game, he wouldn't be happy. Sure, they won, but did they learn anything? Did they do any real defensive work? These kids were utterly missing everything he'd been trying to teach them for the past two weeks of practice time. Glancing up in the stands, he caught his wife's face; she watched him with a look of concern etched in her green eyes, even though she cheered every time the kids' scored something. She knew he was frustrated. He vented his frustrations to her every night before they went to bed, particularly his frustrations toward Conway.

Above all, he hated knowing he brought his stress from work home; even his conversations with Bella were short and tense, and at eight months pregnant, that wasn't fair to her at all. He promised himself that that night, they would have a family night with Lucy; he would order Bella pizza that was half anchovy-pineapple-black olives (she got the weirdest cravings during pregnancy; when she'd been pregnant with Lucy, she'd craved deep-fried pickles dipped in Nutella, disgusting) and another half with sausage for him and Lucy, and they'd watch their favorite movie they loved to watch as a family, Rodney Dangerfield's Back to School. He owed it to her after stressing her out with his crap; she didn't deserve to have to listen to his stress all the time. She busted her ass in the ER at eight months pregnant – what she deserved was for him to come home and volunteer to rub her feet and start her a hot bath, not sit there at the kitchen table and complain.

At least she saw first-hand why he came home from work so short-tempered these days, and she seemed to understand.

This continued for both periods, with the Ducks racking up their offense; Conway got the hat trick, giving them a nine-to-nothing lead over the Bears.

But the third period was when things started coming undone. Suddenly, the Bears somehow began adapting to what they were doing. And it went just as Ted thought it would. After the Bears scored against the Cat, he called for another line change.

"All right," Ted said, "change it up. Mendoza, Robertson."

The line changed. But their defense wasn't getting better, even with Mendoza and Robertson out there. After Roberton and Mendoza failed to protect the zone, Ted called for yet another line change.

"Moreau, Conway, change it," he ordered, still hoping they could keep these Bears from scoring again. These weren't the same Bears from last year. They'd gotten better.

That line change proved to be even less successful than last time. Even after Julie blocked off several shots, nobody was doing their part to clear the puck away. Ted kept yelling for them to clear the net, to get the puck away and out of their zone, but when he watched the puck sail in, he knew they were in deep crap now. He then barked at Germaine and Fulton to go, but even that didn't do much. At one point, he had Robertson and Conway out there, and Conway was back-checking as Ted yelled for him to make the Bear make the first move, only for the Bear to trip Conway on his way to the net, scoring, making it nine to seven.

Ted bowed his head down in anger, more pissed off than ever before. He was seeing red now, and not just because the Warriors' jerseys were flaming red. He watched Conway angrily break his stick against the Warriors' goalpost. Ted shook his head; this would be acceptable behavior from a toddler, not a teenager, and he felt a swell of embarrassment rush through him. While he understood why Conway was so mad because the penalty was uncalled, that didn't excuse his childish antics as he was forced into the penalty box for lousy sportsmanship; the whole time, Conway kept screaming at the refs to do their job, to make the call for the clear intention to trip him, but the refs did nothing. And Ted wouldn't lie; he was mad, too, about that poor call from the refs. Looking up in the stands at his wife and daughter, he saw Bella look angry, too, partially at Conway and also at the ref's poor call.

At the last minute, Ted called for a goalie change. Gaffney was getting tired. He was so desperate that he was sending Goldberg out there. He knew it was a long shot. But he hoped that maybe a goalie change could help . . . maybe . . .

But it didn't. The game ended in a tie at nine to nine. And they went into overtime, where nobody scored at all. Nobody scored in the shootout, either.

He could see the embarrassed looks on each of the kids' faces as they went to the locker room, upset that the game had ended in a tie. When he entered the locker room, he overheard an argument between Russ, Conway, and Fulton and walked in to find Russ and Fulton in a shoving match. Ted slammed the door open, silencing them all instantly.

"How long does it take to score a goal?" he demanded from all of them, clutching the puck from the game in his hand. He threw it right at the bulletin board in the locker room, sending it crashing to the floor. "Less than a second! That means no lead is safe if you can't play defense! Now, get this straight! I don't give a damn how many goals you score. I want one number on your mind: zero, as in shutout! You got that?"

He was met with their petrified stares, and he could imagine this was similar to how it had been when they'd lost to Iceland for the first time in the Junior Goodwill Games. But he wasn't about to go around calling them names like "pathetic," "stupid," "hopeless," or "losers" because that wouldn't get them anywhere, putting them down and making them feel even more inferior than they already did. His gaze landed on Conway as he asked his final question, but Conway wouldn't even look at him; he kept staring at the floor with red-rimmed blue eyes, his face hot red and covered in beads of sweat, lips pressed in a line so thin, they seemed to disappear into his face; Conway looked about as angry as he felt, albeit for a different reason.

Inhaling deeply, Ted continued. "Practice. Tomorrow morning. Five a.m. Got to get up early if you want to hunt goose eggs."

He left the locker room silently so he could head outside to meet his wife and daughter, who were waiting for him. He heard Dean Buckley approach him as he listened to the Varsity team warm up.

"Ted. Ted," Buckley said, walking to keep up with his pace. "I know you're as disappointed in that tie as we are." He felt Buckley pat him on the shoulder in sympathy, but Ted shook his head.

"Actually, I'd have preferred a loss," Ted said.

"You're kidding, right, Coach?"

"Well, you learn a hell of a lot more from losing than winning," Ted answered, which was true – the losses he faced in the North Stars were his most challenging, but they made him step his game up and want to do better than his best for the next game. And unlike past coaches at Eden Hall, Ted cared about whether or not these kids learned anything.

Dean Buckley looked at him with desperation in his face, blue eyes widening. "We don't have time for learning. They need to win! They could lose their scholarships!"

At this, Ted was exasperated. So, those alumni only gave the Ducks those scholarships to win at hockey, not play hockey? The picture became clearer to him: the alumni, led by Tom Riley, thought the Ducks to be one big joke; they loved that this was happening. They wanted to prove these kids didn't belong in a school like Eden Hall, so they gifted them athletic scholarships for what? To be one big circus act for the student body to stop and look at? To make them look like a bunch of uneducated, stupid losers who would never make it?

He felt a harsh hurricane of disgust wipe away his anger, along with a fierce sensation of sympathy and compassion that these kids were being set up to fail. Looking at Buckley, he knew the dean thought it to be unfair; however, the guy was also willing to bend over backward to the alumni and kiss their asses, making it harder for Ted to have any sympathy for his former biology teacher.

"You're kidding . . . right, Dean?" Ted asked before walking away, shaking his head. The moment he stepped out of the arena, he was greeted by Bella and Lucy.

"Are you okay?" Bella asked gently.

Ted shook his head. "Buckley just told me they'll lose their scholarships if they don't win," he said disgustedly. "Tom Riley hasn't changed a bit!"

Bella looked about as angry as he felt. "But that's not fair!"

"I know it's not," Ted said, shaking his head as he rubbed her pregnant stomach. "Apparently, I'm the only one who gives a crap if they learn anything."

"Oh, honey."

"Come on, Belles, let's get home. I'll order in tonight," he said gently, but as he said this, he caught a glimpse of Tom Riley stepping out for a smoke break, and he felt his anger flare all over again. He also saw Tom's smirk, and Lucy must've seen it, too, because she angrily rolled up to Tom Riley before Ted could catch up with her – she was super-fast despite being confined to a wheelchair and also super protective of her Daddy.

"What do you mean you're gonna kick the Ducks out if they don't win?" she demanded, and Ted could hear in her voice that she was near tears.

"Little girl, I don't know what you're talking about," Tom Riley scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, you do! Don't lie to me! That's not fair! My daddy's J.V. coach! You don't get to take my daddy's job away just because the Ducks aren't winning!" Lucy screamed angrily, showing the hints of a six-year-old child; Ted was shocked. His little girl was usually so mature and so well-behaved. But he also knew she was his daughter. She didn't care if she sounded like a brat when she saw injustice. She was going to stand up for what she believed in no matter what.

"And I have a name! And it's not 'little girl!'" Lucy added angrily.

"Look, kid, nobody's trying to take your daddy's job away."

"Liar!" Lucy cried indignantly, and she nearly started rolling over Tom Riley's perfectly polished designer dress shoes. Luckily, Ted grabbed the handlebars on her wheelchair and tugged her back, pulling her into his arms and hugging him tightly as he stroked her hair gently.

"That's enough, Lucy," he whispered soothingly. "That's enough."

Lucy shook her head. "But it's not right!" she gritted out.

"I know it's not," Ted said gently. "Just stop. Come on, let's take a walk, baby." He kept his arms wound around her and led her away from Tom Riley's smirking face because, to be honest, he felt like wiping that smirk right off Tom's face at that moment.

The hot water of the bath relaxed him only marginally.

After they put Lucy to bed, Ted and Bella climbed into the steaming hot bath in their master bathroom. Ted had made sure to put a variety of soothing lotions and oils into the water, perfuming it with lavender, rose, and peppermint as he leaned back, rubbing Bella's pregnant belly and feeling his little boy kick against his hand.

"That little man is going to be trouble," he said to his wife, kissing her shoulder. "Imagine what'll happen if we put him in hockey. He'll be a menace."

"Mmmh, I guess so." Bella leaned her head back on his chest, sighing. "Honey? Do you really think the board would try and revoke those kids' scholarships?"

"They better not," Ted whispered. "I'll make sure they won't. We'll do better in the next one."

"But what about that Conway boy?"

"What about him?"

"Do you think you'd ever be able to reach him?"

"Honestly, Belles? I think he's too far for me to reach," Ted admitted. "I mean, I've never met someone with so much anger in my entire life. He doesn't even give me a chance to work with him. I critique him on one thing, and he explodes. And it's not about winning for me, Belles. I thought that I could get those kids to learn something through all this. But it's Conway. He's the roadblock."

"Or he could be the one to help you down the path you need." Bella turned around to face him, her eyes serious. "Sweetheart, I know you care about whether or not those kids learn. And I know that boy hasn't been easy for you to put up with. But there might be something else going on with him that you don't know about."

Ted scoffed. "He's just pissed off that Bombay left me in charge. He's gotta learn to get over himself."

"Ted," Bella said sternly, "have a little sympathy."

"He acts like an insubordinate!"

"I understand that. But he probably thinks that it's never enough, no matter what he does. How long do you suppose he's felt that way before Bombay came in and made him and the rest of District Five the Ducks? Hmm? I think part of him wants to please you, but he doesn't know how to because he doesn't know what you want from him."

"All I want is for him to do his best. And I know that that game was not his best. He can do so much more if he just played better defense," Ted admitted.

"So, you've got to show him how he can be better than his best. You've got to show him what it is you know he's capable of and share that with him."

"But I don't know how! I've never met someone so stubborn before. He won't even let me teach him. He's worse than Bombay – he's even more stubborn than Gordon had been."

"If I can recall, you were the same way," Bella reminded him.

Ted sputtered, "What? I was never an immature little –"

"Not the you from high school," Bella protested. "I'm talking about you after the accident. You and I both cried for days after we learned Lucy wouldn't walk. But you were worse than I was. I remember when you went out drinking after we got home from the hospital, do you?"

Ted shuddered; he remembered that night. It hadn't been good. He'd been so angry, so depressed over the idea that his daughter would never walk, that as soon as he was released from the hospital, he went to a bar and drank; he drank so much he didn't recall how many drinks he'd had. But he remembered the alcohol numbing everything and briefly making him forget about the problems he needed to come home to.

"I remember you screaming at me over it, telling me going out and getting drunk wouldn't do anything to fix it." Ted blushed deeply; Bella had a way of making him humble.

"You weren't willing to accept that you needed to pick yourself back up and attack the problem like you would the puck when you played hockey," Bella reminded him. "It took me and Jan talking sense into you and reminding you that real life is just like hockey. What happens when you don't have any control? Do you run away? Or do you face it? Charlie needs to learn that, too, just like you did. But it's going to take him time to get there."

"How much time?"

"I really can't say, honey, because I don't know him. But you've got to find a way to connect with him and show him that you know what it's like, that maybe you don't get all of it, but you get some of it because I didn't see an angry teenager throwing a fit when I watched him break his stick. I saw a scared, hurting child feeling the need to protect his friends and himself from getting hurt. Think about it."

Ted tried. He really did. But he was still so mad at the prospect of those kids losing their scholarships that he couldn't find it in him to have much empathy for Charlie Conway right now. He just sunk further into the bathtub, the hot water hitting his shoulders as he tried to think about what Bella was advising him to do.

Part of my inspiration behind Lucy's characterization was Sheryl Yoast from Remember the Titans; I wanted some traces of the young Ted Orion's personality to come through, and it shows that Lucy really is her father's daughter. I also couldn't resist posting this chapter a day later, because I really wanted to show Ted's POV about that Bears game.